Mama
by Jacky-The-Ripper
Summary: But the memories of your melodies and soft, warm touch kept me going. Probably longer than I should have.


**All right, I wrote this relatively quickly for one site I go to and I thought it turned out pretty nicely for forcing myself to write it all down in one sitting. (Well, one internet session really. I kept getting up and running around trying to figure out how I was going to word things.) I do think I laid it on a little thick, however. DX Oh well, they all can't be greats.**

**Perspective changes in the story without warning, but it remains and is fairly obvious . . . I think. 0-0;**

**Warnings:Bittersweet.**

* * *

It was midday, I remember so clearly.

We were out playing in the grass. I was just a small child shying away from the group, but somehow, someway they considered me playing with them. Not that I cared, so long as I could dance on my own I didn't bother correcting them.

Now that I think about it, I might have been better off playing the games they were, since I had no rhythm to speak of. Unfortunately at the time I believed myself to be the best dancer of my kind. (How deluded my thinking)

Stomps instead of steps, tumbles instead of glides . . . It was no wonder I tripped over my own two feet. And as my luck would have it, as I fell my foot grazed a jagged rock that had yet to be removed from the field by papa. It hurt. It hurt more than any cut had hurt in my entire life. I was already crying long before I actually hit the ground. The landing had knocked the wind out of me and I tell, you coughing and crying at the same time is the least pleasant thing you could ever do to yourself.

And I sat there. Sobbing uncontrollably with enough volume to wake the dead. The others, they disappeared at that moment. I didn't care what they were doing after that point. One reason was my scraped foot . . . The other. . .

I stopped crying (Hiccupping just a little) when a silhouette washed over me. Confused, I looked up to see who was tall enough to block the sun from me and I saw strange cerulean eyes looking down at me.

I knew you. I had seen you before. But you were still a stranger to me. I hid away every time you had visited, afraid of your kind. Afraid of you. I knew nothing of you, so I wanted to run away. However the scrap on my foot prevented me from doing so and all I could do was shiver in fright, praying you wouldn't hurt me.

You bent down, held out your hands, and kept them there for a moment. I looked at you with confusion. _What are you doing? What are you planning?_ I see you smile, and what I thought before was a sign of devious intent I know now to be a display of caring and affection. I couldn't move away when you started to wrap your hands around my waist or when you started to hoist me up, but when I was in the air with nothing to further injure my foot I started to thrash around. My heart was never so fast, I was certain you were going to eat me. To torture me. But no matter how hard I fought, you kept a tight grip on me without hurting me. (That should have told me enough about you. I was just so stubborn. . .)

You whispered to me what I couldn't understand. The words were not my own, only the tone could be read and I refused to believe it's calming, loving tone. You took me near the water and sat upon a stone step, placing me in your lap with your gloved hands still around me. My heart pounded against my chest while my imagination took flight, many painful scenarios buzzing through my head. I know now, you could sense my fear and knew what was going through my mind, and you kept that comforting smile. If only I believed it. You slowly removed one of your gloves, and lowered it into the water, cupping your hand to retain most of it. Then you brought it to my foot and gently rinsed it. I yelped, you shushed me and whispered more, continuing to clean my cut. It stung. I couldn't understand why water would hurt so much, and though my fear of you was strong my curiosity was stronger. I looked up to you for the answer, only to see loving eyes staring back into mine.

My fear died, for the most part. I was still worried something bad would happen. When you finished, you wiped the remaining tears from my eyes and held me close. You loosely cradled me in your arms and brought me to your warm heart, rocking me gently. I heard a song, the lullaby that took away all my doubt of you. The words meant nothing at all, just hums and mumbles of a language foreign to me. It was just your soft, lukewarm voice that wrapped around my being and soaked into my heart. And as my eyelids became heavy and sleep grabbed a hold of my being, I knew . . .

I had fallen in love with you.

* * *

After that the only reason I had for playing out into the field was the chance of seeing you again, the loving person who took such good care of me, and I was always so happy when you were around.

But that last visit, the look on your face . . .

I didn't understand until evening. The night was lit by starlight and fire, anger and fear thickened the air till none could breathe and rational thought became impossible. Yet you stood so strong against those men, even with the shiver in your voice you are the bravest creature I ever knew. And I could only watch and listen to the tone of the situation, wishing I could help you somehow.

The big man, he stood in the middle, was the most hateful of all of them. He shouted at you despite the fact you were one of his own, he disregarded you. . . He scared you so badly.

Before any of us could understand what exactly was going on, the group charged and everything went black.

When I awoke I remembered feeling sore, almost dead, along with a terrible wind blowing above my head. I looked around and saw a few of the others had awaken, but you were no where in sight. It took me a few moments to realize the orange glow of fire had disappeared and in it's place the Erie shine of green power. I looked ahead and saw you standing there, a shadow among the bright light, and no sooner had I seen you you were gone in a flash. The light, the wind, they had gone to. Your presence, the comfortable elegance that surrounded us, was never there again. I never felt so alone.

* * *

_But the memories of your melodies and soft, warm touch kept me going._

* * *

Probably longer than I should have. I am now old, and barely breathing. My bones ache every time my heart beats and my dry skin soaks in my nightly tears filled with the memories of years far past. My generation had grown and died, and the generation they had started done the same, and the generation they began . . . I have seen many of my kind's births, and sadly enough I have seen their deaths as well. But I continue to live, even though I am so tired.

I am the elder, the survivor of many centuries, the impossible life. I, myself, do not understand why I have lived for so long . . . Maybe it is destiny's cruel joke on me?

I walk alongside the new generation on the broken road. We watched with sadness in our hearts as papa destroyed the city we had recently called home, anger of the past controlling his actions. It was for the best, that papa should be defeated, but he still held a place in our hearts and was a painful sight to see. As elder, it was my job to comfort the little ones, because I was wise enough to know it would all be okay.

I wasn't paying attention for a moment and I trip over crumbled concrete. I fall with enough force to crack my old bones and I have no energy, no desire to pick myself up. The little ones gather around me, worrying and asking if I am all right, but I am too tired to answer them.

I am sure I will not be around for much longer, and already my head fills with regrets that I can only wish to fix. One stands out above them all: _To be held by you again._

My weary eyes catch onto a blurred sight. I desperately try to focus onto the blurs, only clearing the vision by a slight degree. But it is enough, I can tell who is there.

You stand there, in front of papa, holding your hands out to him. I can only assume you have the same look in your eyes as you did when you held me, and if you truly do have that look I know I envy papa so much. I watch as a light forms above you two and you ascend to the Heavens.

And before you disappear, before I close my eyes for the final time . . .

I wish I could go with you, mama.

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**_If_ you review, I ask kindly that you don't be so hard. I realize this isn't the best story ever, and there are faults . . . But what can you expect when you write something at 4:00AM to 10:00AM with practically no breaks while riding a sugar high?**


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